Crane's Dilemma
by Persephone Price
Summary: Post-Necromancer. Crane reflects on one of his more unsettling personality traits. Kind of Ichabbie. 2nd Part is Post-Sanctuary. Crane reflects on some surprising news.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Cuz Imma be honest, Mr. Steal Yo Girl Crane's behavior made me nervous in this episode (Necromancer). SPOILERS, GUYS, SPOILERS. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

It was only when he discovered the Horseman's true identity that Ichabod realized something fundamentally flawed about his own character. As noble, principled, and good-hearted as he had believed himself to be, he had one very troubling personality trait: he was unfaithful.

His discretions started in small increments, slowly degrading in their moral nature. First and foremost, of course, was the fact that he was a traitor to his country, a turncoat indisputably guilty of treason. On the surface, this was quite a grave crime (at least in terms of legality) and would have certainly stipulated his execution. However, his qualms with his motherland were rooted wholly in moral grounds, and so he was quickly able to forgive himself for this apparent lapse in his loyalty – for he was being loyal to his own values (just not those of his country) and so he was not _completely_ disloyal.

However, this trait soon spiraled into something quite a bit more ethically ambiguous. When he had fallen in love with Katrina, his best friend's fiancée, he knew that he was treading into dangerous territory. Yes, he and Katrina were in love and yes, Abraham's engagement to her was arranged without her consent, but still he was his friend and he had betrayed his trust in a most tragic and unforgivable manner. Now that he recalled their skirmish, he realized how audaciously foolish he had been to even dare to ask for his blessing, a mere day after Katrina had terminated their engagement. Had he been in his friend's position, he likely would have responded similarly. True love or not, he had violated Abraham's confidence. He was true to his heart, but not to his values.

And now, he embarked on his most unfaithful tribulation yet. His affection for Miss Mills was morphing quickly into a whole new beast, and he feared he was hazardously close to committing the most classic and abhorrent act of infidelity of all: adultery. Be it emotional or physical adultery, it was adultery all the same. He dared not make a distinction between them, because a distinction had no bearing on the moral fabric of his soul. He was not sure if he was being true to his values _or_ his heart anymore, and so he was appropriately terrified. If he crossed this bridge, he feared there was no redemption for him – he would not be able to delude himself that his actions were anything but woefully depraved.

He had trusted, in the past, the purity of his own heart; that was what had allowed him to overcome his previous two transgressions. But now, the thoughts that swirled in his brain were categorically impure. His feelings for Miss Mills, heartfelt though they were, should not have existed. He should have stifled them, or found a way to ignore them. But they blossomed, like a lover's red roses, wrapping their thorny vines around his heart. He was trapped.

And perhaps his poor heart _was_ true, perhaps his feelings for Abigail were genuine and had displaced the ones he had held for his absent wife. This was still entirely unjustifiable. Adultery was inexcusable, full stop. And so long as Katrina's fate was not sealed, he was an adulterer.

And what else did this make him? It threw out everything he had thought he'd known about himself, threw it into the flames of hell that he so hypocritically fought to stave off. Perhaps he was just inherently fickle, and was becoming more so as time marched on. Perhaps he'd been living a lie his entire life, perhaps he had _never_ been as chivalrous as he'd thought himself to be. It was laughable, he thought, that his role as a Witness demanded such integrity of him, that he'd been chosen for this holy path. He was nothing but a sinner, just like the rest of the world. He was a disgrace especially to Abbie, who had such fortitude; he was ashamed to even call himself her partner.

He wondered if she knew this about him, knew what a wretched person he most certainly was. He couldn't imagine that she did – when she gazed at him, her doe eyes held such respect, such admiration, that he knew that any adulterous advances would not be spurned. She knew his marital status, and so she could not be _wholly_ ignorant to his shortcomings, but they were evidently not a deterrent. He wagered she was either blissfully unaware of his licentious feelings toward her, acknowledged them and was wary of them, or acknowledged them on a subconscious level but endeavored to look past them. He was inclined to believe it was the latter – she knew his history, and she was smart enough to read between the lines when he brushed his fingers over the small of her back, 'following' her. Motions such as these were simply a ruse, a pathetic excuse to touch her that he hadn't dared name outright until now.

But even if he _did_ act on his feelings for Abbie – and he now feared that it was imminent, given the passion that coiled itself tightly inside him, like a spring begging to be released – he could not trust that this would be his final deception. If, God forbid, he betrayed Abbie, he could never live with himself. She was more, so much more, than a mere object of affection – she was a colleague, a companion, a guide in this strange world. His _only_ colleague, his _only_ companion, his _only_ guide. He could not betray her, he could not lose her. He needed her, just as he needed the air in his lungs. He prayed that the circumstances were different, now, and that this fated mission had brought them together for a reason, that the sacredness of their plight would rub off on his character.

Only time would tell.

* * *

**Author's Note: Soooo I can't write anything other than Ichabbie... Sorry not sorry. But seriously, Ichabod's character is kinda conflicted, right? It seems to be a fundamental thing that he betrays what he thinks to be of the utmost importance to him once something else comes along. He thought his country was the most important thing until he fully understood the forces driving the Revolution, he thought his friend was important until he met Katrina, and who knows, maybe he'll think Katrina is important only until he realizes how deep his connection with Abbie is. I can dream...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! There are SPOILERS here. I just really like writing in Ichabod's POV. **

While at first Crane had met the astounding news of his fatherhood with centuries' belated joy, the sentiment was tainted prematurely. Now, he lamented to find his elation mingled with a woeful, woeful sense of betrayal.

He was unbearably ignorant, and the meager information he clung to had come solely from Abbie's fragmented visions.

He had seen Katrina _thrice_, and not once had she given him even the slightest inkling that he had a child.

There was so much she hadn't told him, he was aware. And although his heart swelled at the realization that he had created a life – a _son_ – with her, he could not help but feel that he had never really known her at all.

He longed for Katrina and for his child with the utmost sincerity; every fiber of his being ached for it, for the completeness of a family. It was everything he had ever dreamt of. But, as the details of his wife's true nature began to reveal themselves, he felt robbed. He didn't want this, this wretched secrecy or this holy burden. He longed for the simplicity that he himself had grown up with, the pure virtue of trust that his father and mother had instilled in him from a young age. Clearly, Katrina had had no intention of fostering such a trust.

He understood that her purpose, as she had known it, transcended the mere duties of motherhood or wifedom – and he wholly respected that. But the fact that she did not hold the same faith in or respect for him stung beyond measure. He would have embraced her mission, had he been aware of it, and it was torture to know that she obviously had not thought he would.

He racked his brains, but he could not conjure an explanation for her deception that was palatable.

His throat burned with the injustice of it all – he may not have carried the child in his belly, but was it not as much a part of him as it was of her? Was he not entitled to the mere _knowledge_ of its – _his_ – existence?

He did not even know the name of his own son.

He had never felt more alone – more alienated – than he did now. He had no one, at the present, and those he'd thought himself close to in the past were strangers still. He had married a shadow, a murky reflection of the true Katrina. And now, as the image of her began to come into focus, he was fearful of what else he might discover.

Crane had loved her deeply, and he loved her still. He could not deny that he felt a certain newfound pride for her. It took a remarkable sort of woman to deliver and care for a baby without a husband, even under normal circumstances – under supernatural circumstances, he had no doubt that the severity of her trials increased tenfold.

But he couldn't shake the cloud of bewilderment that obscured his judgment or the notion that she was yet still unknown to him. The mysteries surrounding their lives grew severer and severer as they (_he_, he reminded himself, for he did not wish to entangle Abigail in this atrocious mess) solved them.

Had she ever truly loved him, or was he only a pawn?

His son had evidently held some sort of otherworldly importance, otherwise Katrina's coven would not have gone to such great lengths to protect him. Did his paternity truly matter?

And was he a Witness by design or merely as an act of happenstance? Would _any_ man Katrina had chosen to marry have been in the same position he found himself in now? He thought perhaps it could just as easily have been Abraham standing in the Sleepy Hollow police station, while Ichabod instead might have been the merchant of death running around with his head cut off. Did _he_, his soul, the very fabric of his moral constitution matter? Or was it just a series of coincidental events that had led him to this point in his life?

He scratched abruptly at his unkempt hair and repressed the tears that pricked his eyes. He was certainly having an identity crisis, and the more he dwelled on his troubles, the more indignant he became.

He bitterly cursed Katrina, labeled her a coward for having concealed this information from him. This was his _life_! If she truly loved him, as he prayed she did, how could she possibly be so inconsiderate? Unwittingly, he had given his life for a cause greater than himself – _her_ cause – and yet she still kept things from him. As a man who had always prided himself on his intelligence, he felt like a deplorable fool, too blinded by love to have anticipated the misery of his own predicament.

And he found himself now, in the deserted archives with only a bottle of spiced rum as his companion, utterly jaded. As a soldier, he was fully aware of what a toxic concoction low morale and liquor made; but only the dulling of his senses seemed to offer any sort of emotional reprieve.

There was someone he had recently met, someone who he trusted wholeheartedly. She was the only person in this age that seemed to truly understand him, and yet now he hesitated to allow himself to feel any sort of kinship with her.

For he could not bear the possibility that he might be deceived again. Katrina's apparent treachery inflicted enough trauma to last several lifetimes, and the added weight of Abbie's would surely kill him. However, if he prevented himself from trusting her, perhaps he could shield himself; if he steeled himself to the tempting inclination to grow closer to her, perhaps he might survive this yet.

There was still so much that he needed to uncover, it seemed utterly counterproductive to open his psyche to further abuse and embarrassment. And so he decided, then, on the dusty floor: Witness and mysticism be damned, he was his only friend in the world.

**Author's Note: I hope you all liked it! I have no idea what's going on with the formatting of this site, so hopefully this looks semi-normal. Please review and let me know what you think! :)**


End file.
